


evolution

by days4daisy



Category: Rampage (2018)
Genre: Banter, First Time, Fur Kink, Grooming, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Movie, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-15 19:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: George’s sigh comes with a note of content. “Yeah,” Davis says, "me too." He does not bother to sign; he knows he won’t need to.





	evolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetcarolanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetcarolanne/gifts).



“Ah!” The reaction blurts from Davis before he knows what causes it. It takes a moment to register the twinge in his side where the bullet struck not too long ago.

George's single finger twitches off Davis’ back. Davis doesn’t need a translation to know the big guy is startled. As large as George is now, his face remains an open book. His eyes reflect worry with a low, questioning mumble.

“I’m fine,” Davis says and signs at the same time.

 _Not fine._ George signs quickly and, Davis notes, with a flare of irritation.

“We can’t all heal as fast as you,” Davis retorts. He takes his time signing the words, feels the weight of George’s stare drinking up every move. “I’m fine.”

George’s temporary sanctuary somehow succeeds at being broad and intimate. Acres have been set aside for George’s altered body to roam, but the trees help keep the enclosure from feeling too open. Or, in George’s words, ‘lonely.’ Even so, the lack of companionship weighs on George. He was Davis’ most social subject, he thrived on the opportunity to help others. George's new solitary existence has been a difficult adjustment.

Davis makes a point of taking extra time to visit George. At first, the authorities were apprehensive about allowing visits without armed security. Chicago was fresh in everyone’s minds. Repeated visits without incident and proof of George’s mounting stress led to a laxing of these limitations. Russell had something to do with it too, a fact he’s yet to stop reminding Davis of.

George looks down at Davis, his broad mouth tipped in a smile. _You’re small,_ he signs. _Fragile._

“Fragile!?” Davis protests. George laughs at his bluster, but his eyes tell the true story. Sadness lurks in them, and Davis understands. He wasn’t able to protect George like George wasn’t able to protect him. They’ve always taken care of each other, but best efforts and intentions are not always enough.

“Hey,” Davis says, setting a hand on George’s leg. His fur is soft under Davis’ fingers. Even now, the white strands are a marvel, like they were when George was smaller and life was a whole lot simpler.

After a slow blink, George signs, _Never again._

“That’s right,” Davis agrees, smiling. “You’ve got my back, and I’ve got yours. We’re a team.” He motions between them. “You and me.”

George inclines his head. _I'll fix it,_ he signs.

“Nothing to fix,” Davis says. He keeps his smile steady, hoping George will understand. “Time. It takes time to heal. That’s all.”

 _I take care of you,_ George signs.

This makes a bit more sense. David nods and gives a thumbs up, “That’s right, and I take care of you, George.” But George shakes his mighty head as if Davis does not get it at all. These types of disconnects are rare for them, even after the change in George’s makeup. Davis waits, head cocked, for George to explain.

He expects another series of signs, but George lowers himself to the ground instead. Leaves crunch under his weight and a gentle tremor rocks Davis’ boots. George splays his legs out, and Davis finds himself standing between a pair of feet that tower over his 6’5” height.

It isn’t an unheard of pose for George, but it’s an unusual one. “You ok, buddy?” Davis asks.

George answers by crooking a single finger. Curious, Davis steps closer. Whatever this is, he isn't afraid of George. But he has no frame of reference for this pose or the coyness of George’s gestures. Davis hopes this is not another instance of George’s guilt coming to the forefront.

George’s guilt - yeah, he’s capable of that. He’s capable of fear too, and amusement, and love. It’s remarkable to Davis that professionals in his field still argue over how much George's species can feel. Davis doesn’t need to read over-hypothesized bullshit. George is all the evidence Davis needs of his species’ emotional capacity.

Davis raises a single brow when George taps his thigh. “You want me up there?” George nods. “On your leg?” Another nod. “You're...sure you’re ok?” A frustrated grunt precedes a third nod.

George's insistence confuses but interests Davis. George wants to help Davis in some way, a way that feels right to George. Davis’ inclination is to shirk concern from anyone who offers it. George, Russell, Kate, whoever. Davis _is_ fine. His injured side is sore, but the white-hot piercing pain is long gone.

But George wants to make Davis better something, and Davis is too intrigued to say no. Davis pauses between two mammoth thighs as George continues to pat his leg. “A little help?” he signs. George is quick to lower his hand.

This is not the first time Davis has set feet on George’s new body, but the sensation is no less incredible. Silver-white fur licks at Davis' boots. The surface is thick, firm but very much alive. Muscles twitch under Davis like a barely-detectable earthquake.

George's is oddly quiet, save a hint of a smirk. “Show off,” Davis signs. George laughs, proving Davis right. Even his laugh is different from usual, a deep rumble behind a smile lit with pure delight. This close, Davis can almost feel the sound from George's throat. George seems content. It's a world away from where they were a few short weeks ago, staring at each other across the rubble of Chicago.

Davis finds himself smiling too. George has a way of making him happy. There are times when Davis thinks George knows him better than anyone. “What am I doing up here, bud?” Davis asks.

He does not receive a sign back. In place of words, George gestures to his own side. The bulging place where bone meets the meat of his leg, a now-massive hill blanketed by fur.

Puzzled, Davis lifts his shirt and mirrors George's pose. In the aftermath of his injury, he had not lost any muscle, but the scar remains. It was a clean shot. Amazing, given all that happened, that the wound did not tear any worse. After Chicago, Davis should have bought up all the lotto tickets within driving distance.

With their size difference, the lingering scar should not be visible to George. But it is, Davis knows from the slip of George's smile. “I'm fine,” Davis insists, letting the hem of his shirt drop. “See?” he signs. “It's nothing. I'm tough, remember?”

 _Stubborn,_ George signs back, and Davis laughs. Stubborn is a pretty good word for both of them.

“Whoa, hey,” Davis says when George reaches out to him. George brushes Davis' stomach just enough to hike Davis’ shirt to his chest. It's an odd tease from George, different from all their other jokes. For reasons Davis can't explain, he shivers.

“Fine,” Davis says. It feels like the culmination of a childhood dare to peel his shirt over his head. The fabric has a long way to fall when Davis tosses it to the side. It flutters to a stop on the grass between George's knees. The evening is not too cold, but goosebumps scale Davis’ skin as he stands under George's gaze. “You happy now?” he asks.

George answers by tapping his own side again. Beckoning, Davis realizes, when he catches the gentle crook of George's fingers. Davis isn’t sure what changes in this moment. Why a look from his best friend is suddenly charged in a way it’s never been before.

An unsettled sense of caution falls over Davis. He wonders if he’s reading this wrong. If this moment has taken on a gravity for him that George does not feel. It's not that George is not capable of experiencing it. George is capable of experiencing compassion deeper than most humans Davis knows. It just may not be something George feels for _him_. The thought hurts more than he ever believed possible.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea, man,” Davis signs. He manages a smile, even with the unexpected nerves fluttering through his stomach.

When George crooks his finger again, Davis crosses to the easy swell of his pelvic bone. Cautiously, he sits, naked back pressed to George. His fur is thick but soft against Davis’ skin. It tickles in places, and he shifts, smiling. George is looking down at him, and Davis thinks, _This is nice._  He signs, “This is weird,” which makes George snort.

 _You're weird,_ George signs back, and Davis grins.

“You love it,” he jokes. George hums and sets a single finger on Davis’ head. Davis thinks it’s a tease at first, an affectionate jab at Davis’ smallness. But before he can swat the hand away, it slides down the back of Davis’ scalp. It is a mere twitch of George's finger, but it straightens Davis’ back like electricity.

Davis' scalp has always been sensitive. The few lovers he’s had over the years have taken great pleasure in his reaction to being shaved. Davis pleasures himself the same way, choosing to shave when he knows he has the night to himself. Slow swipes of the razor followed by a long shower after.

The pad of George's finger is cool and smooth. It covers the entire base of his neck. Davis gasps before he can consider how it will look to George. George's touch has never spurred feelings like this. It would be insane if Davis felt something so magnetic, so sudden, from the graze of anyone else's finger. But this is George. George is... He's different. Special.

Davis laughs at the craziness and bows under George's touch. “Alright, buddy,” he says, “alright.” He speaks without signing. George should not be able to understand the spoken words. Maybe he knows Davis’ tone, the breathy texture of hesitation melting to consent. George's finger progresses to the dip between Davis’ shoulders. It's a marvel how a touch can be both strong and gentle. George caresses with care, but Davis feels the power behind his touch.

White, thick fur tickles the palms Davis braces on George's leg. He's felt the sensation plenty of times, but never quite like this. Soft coils sift through his fingers, teasing the skin between them. Davis vaguely senses the bob of his own hips and how every brush seems to stir something in his belly. His cock begins to fill.

Davis glances up with an incredulous smile. “Are you trying to groom me?” he signs.

 _Too smooth_ George replies with a huff. His gaze is soft and fond.

“Yeah well,” Davis says, “it would take me forever to do you. Your big head, your back. A week? Think it'd take a week?”

He expects a snort or a joking jab, but George reacts in a way Davis can't remember before. A growl-like hum, eyes narrowed in unmistakable pleasure. Davis feels his gaze like a full body caress. The breath on his lips shudders out in surprise. “Oh, you like that,” Davis says quietly. “I see how it is.” He’s seeing alright, more than he ever expected.

George’s caress is like leather covering Davis’ body. He kneads between Davis’ shoulders and continues down the arch of Davis’ spine. Davis hunches down to let him, bent over his knees. His cock forms a hard line in the front of his cargos. When George finds the small of his back, Davis' teeth scrape across his lip.

He’d like nothing more than to peel the last of his clothes off. The only thing stopping Davis is the reason for his snagged breath. Across his palms, between his fingers, George’s fur curls enticingly. Davis feels short of breath from the gentle prickle against his hands. What would he do if it was his legs, his ass nestled against George’s fur? He clenches teeth against the moan that springs to his throat. Somewhere between Chicago and here, Davis really did lose his mind.

He is not prepared for George’s finger to retrace its steps. He combs up Davis’ spine, scales between his shoulders, and ends in a gentle scrape across his scalp. Davis bridges against the touch. His breath pants out, and his fists tighten in George’s fur. Against his spine, he feels the shift of George’s body, the sweep of his fur across his skin. Davis’ head spins. He looks up the long length of George’s body, across the heft of his chest to glowing eyes focused solely on him.

Davis finds his mouth empty of wit. He lets George see him; the surprise, the desire, the rare vulnerability. George’s mouth turns upward, and his finger shifts from Davis’ back to his chest. Davis wonders if George can feel his heart racing.

George circles the finger, leathery skin scraping nipples that turn hard and flush deeper. George scrapes Davis’ stomach and teases his navel. Davis' hips jut forward, and his hands move with a mind of their own to the fly of his pants. He can’t help it. This is nuts, but he needs more.

The evening air ghosts across Davis’ naked legs. He kneels out from under George’s touch long enough to peel out of his pants and boxers. His cock is already wet, precome gathered in the slit.

It’s hard to move once Davis rids himself of his remaining clothes. He’s on his knees, buried in fur. White coils twist up Davis’ thighs. He sets hands behind him, starting to ease back. Fur tickles his thighs and combs up his back. Davis’ cock, heavy with want, slaps against his belly.

Davis sucks in a breath at the single finger against his chest. George is gentle but insistent, a nudge that urges Davis to flatten against George’s side. He sinks into George’s fur, feels it curl around his spine and hug the shape of his hips. The scritch of his fur is maddening, teasing the back of his knees. Davis shivers. “I know,” he says; he can’t sign, can’t move his hands. “I know, give me a minute. Thirty seconds. I know.”

Lips parted, breaths rushed, Davis lowers himself all the way. His vision of the tree line blurs. Nothing can prepare him to sit back onto a bed of soft fur. The thick strands curl around his ass, stroking his skin like one hundred tiny touches. Fur shifts between Davis’ thighs no matter how tight-pressed he keeps them. It kisses between his ass, strokes his hole with tenderness no lover has ever managed. Davis’ cock twitches against his belly, new wetness dribbling out. Throat tight, he stays still. Any motion will set off those thousand feather-light teases that his body is too wound to handle.

The sound that rumbles from George is like a purr. He must sense Davis’ arousal, feel the warmth of his body pressed so close. George’s finger grazes Davis’ scalp. Davis tips his head back, and George’s touch curves down his cheek. George moves to his mouth, his lip peeled slowly down. He tastes like earth to Davis, warm and smooth. George hums above him, a shivering sound that - even against George’s side - Davis feels.

George’s finger continues on, to his throat which bobs anxiously. To Davis’ chest, rising and falling heavily on every breath. To his stomach.

George pauses at Davis’ side, on the scar from his gunshot wound. It’s difficult to move, as on edge as Davis is, but he manages to squeeze George’s finger. He’s alright, _they’re_  alright. A grunt of acknowledgment answers the gesture.

George’s finger presses between Davis’ thighs. Davis knew what direction George was going, but the boldness is a shock. His thighs split to accommodate George’s presence, and everything changes. Fur strokes Davis’ legs. Fur buries deeper against the small of Davis’ back. Fur winds its teasing coils under Davis’ backside. It kisses his hole, curls as if wanting entry. Davis moans, wedged against George’s finger. His balls sit heavy on the leathery pad. When he jerks forward, his cock smacks his stomach.

Davis can’t help it, he takes himself in hand. He thumbs the vein at the base of his shaft as he strokes himself. Davis’ body wars between too many provocation points. He wants to bury himself in George’s fur until he’s screaming from the slow release. Davis wants George’s finger too, its weight nudged against Davis’ scrotum. And he wants his own hand, he’s almost too aroused to touch himself. His face feels hot, and his gut is like liquid. He’s never felt this out of his head in his life.

When Davis' toes curl, they are tangled in George’s fur. His body bucks against George’s finger, sensation exploding from the base of his spine. Davis soaks his belly in his own release. His body clenches around leathery skin and the white strands feathering his body. It’s like one thousand kisses all over, dragging out an orgasm that does not want to end. A strangled sound Davis' can’t remember making in his life rings through his ears as the world goes white.

Davis blinks down at his own cum-soaked stomach. White drips from lines of muscle and dribble into his navel. His fingers loosen around his half-stiff cock. A shift reminds him of exactly where he is. Fur caresses his body, already over sensitive from release. Davis gasps through parted lips, and goosebumps rise on skin that should be too tired to react.

He rolls bleary eyes up at George’s quiet _oooh._ “Don’t start.” Davis signs. He's too far gone to notice the cum on one hand. “You know what we call that? Getting a big head. Cocky.” George answers with a chortle.

Davis’ legs can’t hide their quiver when George’s finger withdraws. His touch may be gone, but his fur still tickles the backs of Davis' legs. Davis’ gut feels warm and wet. He closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on the sturdy presence against his back. The heavy, gusting breaths of his best friend overhead.

George’s sigh comes with a note of content. “Yeah,” Davis says, "me too." He does not bother to sign; he knows he won’t need to.

* The End *


End file.
